


Fun box

by zemyr



Series: A Fleet Admiral's Witcher adventures [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dettlaff does not have the smarts, Geralt is left to his own Devices, M/M, Regis is cursed, Sex Toys, Vampire form sexytimes, Yennefer for 1 sentence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zemyr/pseuds/zemyr
Summary: Geralt has retired to a life of leisure at Corvo Bianco where he and Yennefer have decided that since they have had such a turbulent on and off relationship full of cheating, fighting and passionate reunions this far, they might as well continue with the cheating and reuniting but skip all the fighting.This means that sometimes Geralt is left home alone.





	Fun box

**Author's Note:**

> This is accidental porn written in less than 4 hours, not betaed, any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

"Lady Yennefer? As exciting as these devices are, how are we to make use of them without enraging our husbands? Will they not feel that there is now competition in the bedchamber?"

"It will of course depend on the husband," Yennefer said as she picked up one of the items for sale and with a touch of magic filled the room with a buzz and an excited tittering among the gathered ladies. "I speak from personal experience when I say that any man can learn to find pleasure with these devices, and will learn to appreciate the variety they offer. Settle down, ladies, and let me tell you how I introduced them to the witchers of the north."

-

Geralt was used to not being able to sleep. 

With a metabolism cranked up to rival a griffin’s and a libido that could put a medium sized brothel out of commission if they ever offered happy hour, Geralt was often kept awake either by a rumbling stomach or a raging erection, or in cases such as today, a glorious combination of both. 

Marlene was more than happy to help him with the first issue, reluctant on the second, and since Barnabas-Basil was down with a cold he had given them both time off for the weekend to go shopping. Since Dandelion was wooing a girl again, and Yennefer was away hosting a very popular workshop in Nilfgaard regarding female sexuality and health with focus on practical lessons, it meant Geralt was spending his third hour in bed with his legs propped up on Yen’s box of mysterious sex toys, his Kama Sutra book open on his lap, holding a metal rod in one hand and a slice of pie in the other while trying to figure out what this sounding business was all about. 

He turned the page, stared at it, looked at the rod, looked at his cock and sighed. Perhaps he would try it in a few hours, but he was more in the mood for more butt stuff. Even with a witcher’s capacity for healing, he was getting rather sore as he had started out the evening using just spit and his hand like a fucking amateur so doing anything involving putting things in his dick was more or less out of the question right now.

There were times he missed Kaer Morhen and the long winters there where there was always a sympathetic erection or mouth available, but he had settled in Toussaint and as Yen had repeatedly said as she got tired of his complaining, he had to take the good and the bad and learn to appreciate both and most importantly of all, not get chased out of the duchy by fucking everyone. She had given him free range of her sizable box of experimentally conjured things to prevent just that, so Geralt put the rod to the side and sat up, wiped some pie filling off his erection and licked his fingers clean before he opened the box with his foot to find something new.

An inch thick metal stick that looked like a length of metal orbs fused together with a bit of a curve to the end caught his interest, it was new and Geralt liked new things, so he pushed a pillow that was already beyond saving under his butt, pulled his knees back, smeared the dildo over the cum-and-oil mixture already coating his stomach and took a bite out of the cherry pie as he pushed the smooth orbs into himself in clinical search of his prostate. 

Which was the exact moment that the door was kicked open and a raging vampire in a huge, over sized brown travelling cloak came stomping into the room, claws extended.

Geralt could have done a number of things. He could have gotten up, grabbed his sword, tried to fight and then become the first witcher to die in combat while naked in his own bedroom with a dildo in his arse, he could cover himself up and then probably die, or he could just stay where he was and hope that the visual impression would either put the vampire off or make it fuck him. Only one of those options meant that he had a semblance of a chance to see another sunrise, so he finished chewing pie and swallowed it.

What it had apparently done was stun vampire into silence.

Geralt cleared his throat, put his feet down on the mattress and tried to act casual as he put his sticky hand behind his head. 

“You could have knocked,” he said, thanking every god and goddess available that the witcher trials had actually taken away both the ability to go into blind panic mode and his ability to blush. 

“Geralt of Rivia,” the vampire said, and oh no, he knew that voice. Dettlaff raised his head until the monster-looking face underneath showed. Geralt had not seen him since he got landed in jail for saving the bastard, and Regis had later on hinted that he knew where Dettlaff was but avoided any kind of conversation regarding him. 

The only consolation was that Dettlaff never did seem to enjoy killing, and even if he was in monster-mode right now it was a good sign that Geralt was not currently arranged around the room in bite sized pieces of flesh and bone. Another thing that might help Geralt was that while Dettlaff was highly intelligent, he was not very clever. Lies, irony and things that did not go as expected tended to make him pause.

“Can I help you?” Geralt asked and raised an eyebrow. “If not I’d rather finish what I was doing.”

“What were you doing?” Dettlaff asked, struggling a bit with the words as ‘were’ was difficult to pronounce when your mouth was full of sharp teeth.

“Masturbating,” Geralt said, gesturing to his sore cock and the knobbly dildo still sticking out of his arse. Dettlaff’s deep set eyes followed his gesture.

“What is the purpose of this activity?” 

“What do you mean, purpose?” Geralt asked, getting up onto his elbows and stretching his legs with a grunt as it made the now warm metal press exactly where he wanted it. “I do it to get off.”

“Get off?”

“It’s something you do when you don’t have anyone around to fuck you,” Geralt explained. “Don’t they teach you the basics at… vampire school or wherever you learn things?”

“No,” Dettlaff said and pushed his cloak aside. Even with the massive, long claws he managed to reach under his coat, open the belt and push his clothes down enough to reveal a pale, rapidly hardening vampire-cock. Before Geralt could put two and two together, his legs were was grabbed with surprising care and then he was dragged to the edge of the bed, where Dettlaff knelt down and wrapped a hand around the metal rod, only stopping when Geralt kicked him in the chest. It was like kicking a wall. 

“What the fuck, Dettlaff?”

“You said you masturbated because you did not have anyone that could copulate with you,” Dettlaff said, keeping still. Geralt could still feel the minuscule movements of his hand through the metal toy, though, and it was enough to make his toes curl. “Now you do. Masturbation is no longer necessary.”

Geralt stared into the ceiling for a moment, and wondered why he was saying what he was about to say. Perhaps it was true, what Eskel had always claimed, the potions that had stripped pigment from his hair and skin had also stripped him of a vital bit of self-preservation instinct.

“Alright, but try not to kill me.”

Dettlaff nodded, pulled the toy out and placed it on the bed next to Geralt before getting up on his knees and pressing the sizable head of his leaking cock to Geralt’s hole. Geralt looked down as he felt Dettlaff’s hands flat on his stomach, the long claws reaching to his collarbone, spreading out over his chest, ten deadly, sharp weapons that could cut men in half before they even registered what was happening, and gods damn it he wanted more. He reached up and placed his hands on the smooth claws, feeling the tips of them sink into his skin and add that edge of pain that matched the stinging as Dettlaff pushed his way into him, strong and lethal and demanding as only a vampire could be. 

Dettlaff’s cock was thick in this form, thick and hard and leaking so much that when he started fucking into Geralt, the only sounds were Geralt’s breathy moans and the wet, squelching sound of him getting the filling of a lifetime. Not even the werewolf compared to this, to a vampire stuck in its basic combat form, the small, ice blue eyes deep within the hood of the travelling cloak eyeing his neck like it was forbidden fruit, the claws pinning him down and trapping him to the bed, the way he was naked and Dettlaff had not even taken his gloves off and he knew he could not move, not an inch in any direction, and if Dettlaff wanted to kill him with teeth or claws or cock he was helpless to stop him. 

Once the idea was in his mind it was impossible to make it go away, he heard himself beg for more and got it, he heard Dettlaff ask him something and he agreed, not caring what he was agreeing to and then a claw nicked at his skin, pressing in until it drew blood from his chest. Looking down, Dettlaff was just a huge, cloak covered thing moving over him, licking his blood and fucking him blind and -snarling-, Geralt managed to reach his cock and squeeze the sore limb hard as he felt Dettlaff fill him to the brim with cum, endless streams of it and then he was coming as well, his hole twitching feebly around the thick limb still pulsing inside him. 

He had no idea how long he stayed there, impaled on Dettlaff’s cock, but whatever witcher mutation it was that kept demanding sex all the time had apparently been thoroughly sated. He felt like he could happily sleep for a week. 

It was only when Dettlaff’s cock seemed to shrink and pull out with a tick stream of vampire spunk that thankfully spilled onto the floor and not onto the mattress that he noticed that the claws were gone. The hands on his chest were human looking, if he ignored the pointy fingernails, and the tongue was a little softer as it passed over the small cut. It was almost healed already. 

“Not that I’m complaining right now, but… what is going on, Dettlaff?” Geralt managed after a few false starts. He tried to sit up, but the movement just caused a lot more vampire-stuff to spill out of his arse. Dettlaff looked down between them and moved back, pulling a blanket along from the bed and dumping it onto the puddle on the floor. He then took hold of Geralt’s legs again, pulled him forward and down onto the floor so he could sit on it and leak there instead of all over his bed. There really was a lot of it.

“I am going to find the man that wrote a book Regis was reading,” Dettlaff said. “I was going to kill him, but now my mind is calm.”

“Glad I could help,” Geralt said weakly and found a reasonably dry corner of the blanket to wipe himself clean when he felt reasonably empty. “Why are you going ballistic over literature anyway, and where’s Regis? Is he alright?”

“The book placed a curse upon Regis,” Dettlaff said as he lifted Geralt as if he weighed nothing and put him back onto the bed. “And I got upset about that. Now I will not kill him, since dead humans do not provide answers.”

“Wait, cursed?”

“He is quite safe, but he was forced to transform and cannot transform back,” Dettlaff explained, holding Geralt down without apparent effort. “I must find a way to reverse the curse, and I thought perhaps the author of this book might be the best to do that.”

Geralt blinked as a small book was produced and handed to him. Dettlaff kept his hand on Geralt’s chest, for some reason he wanted him to stay down. The cover was old and faded and smelled of crypts, and inside the cover, the year of writing was set to the year 1012. It was not an elven name.

“This book is over two hundred years old, Dettlaff,” Geralt said, and watched as Dettlaff’s shoulders slumped. “Humans don’t live that long.”

If a vampire could ever look on the verge of tears, this was it. 

“Look… Dettlaff.” The vampire looked at him. “Go north, to Kaedwen. At the end of the Gwenllech river there’s a fortress, Kaer Morhen, that’s where the wolf school is. Eskel is the big one with the good hair, Lambert is the snarky one, try not to kill him. Tell them we’re friends. They know their way around the library, and Eskel in particular’s good with curses.”

“Friends,” Dettlaff repeated, staring at Geralt in open eyed wonderment. Geralt elected to ignore it, he still didn’t like what Dettlaff had done, but he could understand why he had done it. It was the first betrayal, the same heartbreak Geralt had felt when Eskel told everyone in the keep that Geralt had tried to kiss him and they had all laughed at him, but Geralt had been ten years old and only capable of destroying a set of curtains and some crockery before Vesemir had caught up with him, not an unstoppable higher vampire with thousands of lesser vampires under his fragile command. 

He ended up nodding, and groaned with embarrassment as Dettlaff reached for something on the inside pocket of his travelling cloak, knelt by the bed, took Geralt’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles. 

“I must make haste, please take care of him until I return,” Dettlaff whispered and tucked a fluffy roll of fabric into Geralt’s hand. It was the size of a wine bottle, and as Dettlaff misted away through the gap in the window, small, pointed ears peeked out from the roll, followed by a wrinkled snout and a tiny pair of black, intelligent bat eyes looking straight at him. Regis chirped mournfully as Geralt stared at him.

“Oh fuck, Regis,” Geralt whispered, closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto the pillow. 

So much for retirement.


End file.
